


Reunion

by orphan_account



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 16:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1824796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe goes to a reunion four years after the war's over. There he sees his during-the-war sweetheart- if you could call it that- and whether things go uphill or downhill is debatable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Half of it was smut, but it was bad enough that I deleted it.  
> I'm portraying the men as they were in the series, not as they were in reality. I mean no disrespect to the veterans in writing this.

Joe didn’t know why he bothered coming to the reunion. It’d been hours to drive and he was taking unpaid leave from his job. He sat in his car outside the place, rubbing his thigh, listening to the engine idle.

He could sleep in his car and get back the next day without embarrassing himself. Joe looked at all the cars in the lot, Ford models. His car was almost indistinguishable from the next, aside from the scratch on the side from an accident during his first time in it.

Joe wondered if he’d be there. That got his blood pumping. He thought of dark eyes, a crooked smile, and a strong, square jaw. Fuck. It’d been a long time.

“I’ll say some hellos and get the fuck out.” Joe killed the engine, slid out, and locked the door.

He was hyper aware of his prosthetic leg. Joe limped to the door and pushed inside the pub. He half-hoped he was late and no one would be there.

He’d never been a lucky guy.

Eyes came on him like nothing he’d ever known. He looked around the room for familiar faces and saw strange ones: women, babies, toddlers. He considered turning and leaving when a voice caught his attention.

“Joe! Jesus, you crazy bastard, you’re missin’ out on the fun!” Bill exclaimed, crutching over to him. He smacked him on the back, hard enough to make him stumble. “You guys remember Joe! Toye! Lost my leg with me!”

A cluster of guys came over. He shook hands, smiled, and made polite conversation. Bill stayed with him, one of his big paws a little too low on his back, guiding him to the bar. How he managed with a crutch in a crowd, Joe didn’t know.

Bill sat him down on a barstool and sat down himself. He ordered two beers before Joe could tell him he’d pay.

Then they were talking over booze and Bill was leaning too close for Joe’s comfort.

“Joe,” Bill said, looking into his glass. “I missed you. You jus’ jumped off the face of the  
planet after we got shipped home.”

Joe shrugged. “I needed to get used to…” he paused, rubbing his thigh, “to this.” He took a long sip of his beer.

“I missed you,” Bill repeated. “’S been four years.”

“Don’t you got Frannie?” he asked, a little too harshly.

Bill jutted his jaw out. Joe flushed. “It ain’t, ah… She’s good. She’s a good woman. Missed you is all.”

Joe nodded, put off by Bill sharing his feelings. He finished his beer and set it down on the bar.

“Another for him, please,” Bill muttered as the bartender passed. He looked back to Joe.

Joe rubbed his thigh out of habit. He remembered fumbling in foxholes and field hospitals, Bill’s hand in his, Bill whispering please and yes and Joe, Joe, Joe.

“You gotta place to stay?” Bill asked. The bartender set down Joe’s drink.

“No. Was gonna sleep in my car.”

Bill furrowed his brow. Joe furrowed his in return. “You fuckin’ kiddin me?” He leaned over and set his hand on Joe’s forearm. “Stay with me.”

Joe moved his arm away. “No. Things ain’t the same.”

“I ain’t gonna let you sleep in a goddamn car, Joe.” Bill was quiet. Joe knew he meant business. He looked at him with the same intensity as there had been on the night they first kissed. Joe closed his eyes and smiled, rubbing his thigh.

“Fuck,” he downed the rest of the glass. “Fuck, Bill! You want me that bad? Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ stay with you.”

He was light-headed. He’d been drinking too fast. Joe leaned closer to Bill, nearly touching foreheads. Like when he got his jump wings and ordered a drink off Luz.

There were others around them, looking, wondering what was happening. “You called me a cowboy that first night. You still want me to…”

Bill leaned away. “We’re leavin’,” he muttered. Then, louder, “we’re leavin’! This lightweight can’t handle nothing!”

That was a damn lie. He held his alcohol better than Bill did when he was exhausted.

Bill helped him up, crutched out like lightning after kisses on cheeks and goodbyes.

Joe hurried after him in the dark lot. He was unsteady and the world spun. Damn his fake leg. Damn Bill. Damn booze.

He tripped. Bill was there, holding his arm and telling him how much a dumbass he was. Joe leaned on him. He’d not gotten any weaker in the past few years. Bill left him at the passenger side, fumbling with his keys.

“Bill.”

He looked up.

“My car.”

“You ain’t in no condition to drive. I’ll come back for it later.”

_He’ll come for it. How long does he want me around?_

The car unlocked. “Get in, Joe.”

Joe did. He looked out on streetlights with bleary eyes, wished for a cigarette. Bill slipped in and slammed his door.

The drive was silent. Joe expected Bill to stop, stop and tell him how he wanted him, touch him. He didn’t. Bill stopped at a hotel. It looked abandoned.

Joe didn’t need to be told to get out of the car. He realized all he had was his uniform. His things were in his car.

“Bill-”

No response.

Joe followed him into the hotel. There was a woman at the desk, chewing gum. The lights were dim. He was too drunk and distracted to appreciate brilliant paintings on dull walls.

Bill crutched over to the woman, talked, winked, and smiled. “… yeah, my buddy, Joe… with me… his car…”

When he was done, the woman was blushing and batting her eyelashes. Joe felt a stab of something. Jealousy.

Maybe he’d been wrong. Bill didn’t want him, he just missed him, and he didn’t want to room with a queer. Things really weren’t the same.

Bill skipped the elevator, using the stair rail to help himself along. _He tryin’ to prove something?_ Joe hobbled after, grabbing Bill’s shoulder. He took his crutch and curled his arm around Bill’s waist.

Bill leaned on him. They were even. Joe struggled up flights of stairs with him. The stump of his leg was sore by the time they got to the proper floor.

“Hey, Bill.”

They were limping down the hallway and Bill’d slung his arm over Joe’s shoulders.

“Joe.”

“Fuck, I…” he couldn’t make himself talk. He concentrated on the press of Bill’s side on his, the heaviness of his arm.

There was a lot he wanted to say. His voice didn’t feel like working.

Bill unlocked the door and took his crutch from Joe. “Give me your keys. I’ll get your shit.” Joe hesitated. “Make yourself comfortable. Shower or somethin’. I’ll be back.”

He handed his keys over. It was dark, but he could make out a bed, a recliner, and a lampshade. Bill patted him on the back and closed the door behind him.

\---

Fuck.

He’d been too open. Joe was mocking him, reminding him of what they’d done.

_You still want me to…_

Bill played it over again in his mind as he crutched down the road. Yeah, he wanted him. He’d been waiting some four years. Of course, he’d been wrong to think Joe would, too.

And yet…

Joe leaned on him. He leaned on Joe. And he didn’t flinch away. He kept trying to say something and Bill didn’t want to hear it.

“Fuck!” he said to the empty street, turning Joe’s keys in his hand.

He’d let Joe know. Didn’t matter if he left.

\---

Joe took off his leg and fucked around in the shower awhile, waiting for Bill to come back. The tiny hotel soaps were half-gone; all of them, and Joe’s scalp was raw from vigorous scrubbing. He put his undershirt and boxers back on, popped on his leg, and looked in the mirror. He hadn’t returned by the time he was done.

He sat on Bill’s bed and thought. One thing came to mind. The undershirt of Bill’s he’d had since they left the hospital in Britain. He remembered holding it to his chest, remembered smelling it until there was no trace of him left.

He remembered gripping it on nights he woke up cold and terrified and guilty, hiding his face in the worn fabric. He recalled having it held tight under his arm when he cried and wished for Toccoa, Currahee, and stolen weekend passes.

Joe’s head spun when he got up and loped to the dresser in the corner of the room. He fell to his knees- well, knee; the other wasn’t worth shit- beside it.

It was wrong to dig an undershirt out of the messy bottom drawer. Weird, too, but he did it anyway. He held his face against it and breathed in. Bill. He’d not held him in more than four years, and his scent was there, strong enough to almost knock the wind out of him.

The guilt was coming back. Bill’d come to get him out of the range of the shells and lost his leg. He could’ve kept fighting, avenging the brother he lost in North Africa. It wasn’t fair.

Joe put the undershirt back and kicked the drawer shut. He didn’t want to explain why he was holding Bill’s clothes and looking miserable.

The door opened. Joe jumped and turned around, nearly falling from the weight on his prosthetic.

Bill tossed Joe’s bag at him. He caught it and threw it onto the recliner.

Joe scratched his neck, still damp from the shower. _What the fuck am I supposed to say? I missed you, Bill. I think I’m in love with you. Let’s fuck or something._

Bill crutched over to Joe and pressed his keys into his hand, jaw working double time.

Joe set a hand on Bill’s chest.

“Listen, Joe-”

“Just shut up, alright? Shut up.” He breathed out slow, wondered if he’d really risk sleeping in his car.

Yeah. He would.

He moved his hand off Bill’s chest to touch the nape of his neck. _Could really use a cigarette._

Joe kissed the side of Bill’s mouth. “I did miss you. ‘S why I came to the reunion, sorta. Bill…” he’d never been good with words.

Bill’s brow furrowed. Joe braced for a punch.

He pulled him forward, though, and crushed his lips against Joe’s with a clack of teeth. He’d have flinched in pain if he weren’t so needy. Joe hooked his arms around Bill’s neck and tilted his head, running his tongue over his lower lip.

Four years. He kissed him like he wished he could during times he had nightmares, clutched him like he couldn’t clutch a shitty old undershirt.

Then Bill broke away, panting softly. There was a multitude of emotions in his eyes, flitting by too fast for Joe to comprehend. “Joe, baby,” he said, grabbing him around the waist. “You know how long I wanted to fuck you? You want that?”

Joe carded his fingers through Bill’s hair. His dirty talk was downright awful. He wanted to laugh. _Fucker only rubbed up on me in the hospital. How’s he supposed to fuck me?_ “Fuck,” he kissed Bill’s neck. “Yeah. Come on.”

Bill kissed him again, slipping him some tongue. He ground his palm against Joe through his pants and he moaned, itching at Bill’s neck with fingernails bitten to the quick. Bill made up for his lack of a way with words with his surplus of experience. He was leaning heavily on Joe, crutch on the ground, and Joe took note of the feeling of his weight pressed on him.

“Get on the bed. Take your leg off.” Bill cracked a smile at that and Joe did, too. _When else would you say that shit?_

He fumbled with his prosthetic but managed to cast it off along with his boxers. Joe knelt, uncertain, on the bed, and pulled his undershirt off. It was rare for him to have sex with anything off. Most of what he got was with strangers when they were drunk and impatient.

Bill was behind him, eyes on his back. He jumped over, grabbed him around the waist, and rolled under him.

“Guess you’re better at the whole ‘operatin’ without a fake leg’ thing, huh?”

“Must be.”

\---

“Say my name,” Bill panted, making the bed groan in protest as his thrusts picked up in speed. “Say my fucking name!”

“Fuck!” Joe shouted, not caring if their neighbors heard. “Bill.” He writhed above him, mouthing his shoulder. “Bill!” And then he was coming hard into his hand, scratching his back and crying out.

“Joe! F-fucking… love you!” Bill grunted as he came.

There was a thump on the wall. Joe jumped. Bill swore. Joe heard a snort from the room next to theirs.

“Congratulations on the fuck, Staff Sergeants! Hope you can keep it down next time. You’ve interrupted my reading!”

Captain Speirs. _Holy fuck._ Joe couldn’t get anything out of his throat but a cough. At least he couldn’t get them in trouble with Major Winters anymore.

Bill laughed in return and smacked Joe on the shoulder. “You know it!”

Someone else- Lipton? - laughed at Bill’s response. “We’ll keep it down!” he called, swatting Bill on the ass.

No reply came from the room but a laugh.

_Ain’t my fault he’s so good at what he does, he thought. Or maybe it was terrible and I’m so fucking desperate for him…_

“Look at that. We got one leg each and I fucked you real good.”

He panted, trying to catch his breath, wondering if what he heard Bill say was true. He pressed his nose into the crook of his neck and savored his scent. He’d be losing it soon.

It took a minute for him to get his breath back. He hadn’t been fucked like that since before he’d lost his leg and a couple of officers had been listening in. He got his thoughts back together and made sure to be quiet the next time he spoke.

“Bill, what the fuck did you say?”

He pushed Joe off him and looked him in the eye. “I fucking love you.”

His stomach churned.

“When do you gotta go back to Frannie?”

Bill rested his head back on the bed.

“Day after tomorrow.”

Joe knew he wouldn’t see him again, not until Bill got another convenient event to attend. He rubbed his back, feeling the scratches he made. Hopefully, Frannie wouldn’t have missed him too much. _How would he explain that? Bar fight with some fucker scratchin’ a broken bottle on him?_

“I, ah… yeah. Feel that for you, too.” _Of all the things I ain’t been able to say tonight, that’s the one to get out my mouth._ His voice broke as he said it. As if he wanted to admit it when Bill was going to leave and he’d be miserable all over again.

Bill rolled onto his side, running his hand down Joe’s chest. “I’m gonna miss you, Joe. Dunno how long it’ll be until I see you again.”

Joe smacked him on the side of the head. “Yeah? Jesus. You got any cigarettes? I need a fuckin’ smoke.”

Bill pushed himself up on his elbows and kissed him again. “Nah. But I can relax you just like one, if that’s what you’re wantin’.”

He lay on his back and looked up at the ceiling. “You think we’re the only Easy boys on this floor? Other than Lip and Speirs?”

“Shit. No. Think Luz’s a couple doors down with Malark,” Bill said, wriggling under the covers.

Joe sighed. At least none of the fellas around gave half a shit about queers; it was well known that Daddy Winters and Momma Nix followed the principles of marriage during the war and moved to Chicago after, presumably to settle down like the crusty old married couple they were.

He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. He was glad he fell for Bill. Some other Easy fellows would’ve chickened out and slept on the recliner instead of giving him a good fuck.

“I’m fuckin’ you next time around, Gonorrhea,” Joe muttered. Bill looked over at him with a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, fucker? We’ll see.”

Joe smiled and closed his eyes, trying not to think about having to settle for an undershirt over the living, breathing Bill Guarnere in the next two days.

He was glad he came to the reunion.


End file.
